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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553838">i see us in black and white</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfinity/pseuds/buckymyson'>buckymyson (trashfinity)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i'll give you the best years [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, I'm not sorry, Married Scott McCall/Malia Tate, Scott McCall is a sap, Scott has strong feelings both for his wife, Wedding Night, also there's a sexual innuendo or two, and for a dress, and super in love with his wife, but like not?, but there are references to the night before, technically it's the morning after</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:40:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfinity/pseuds/buckymyson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> His eyes drift to the woman in his arms, her head resting against his chest, same as when they fell asleep a few odd hours earlier, hair splayed out in a wild tangle on the pillow. Not just a woman - his wife. <em></em></em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em><br/><em>-</em><br/></em></p><p> </p><p>  <em><br/><em>or: Scott is very much in love with his wife.</em><br/></em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scott McCall/Malia Tate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i'll give you the best years [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i see us in black and white</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i can't believe i'm posting a fic. this started as part of a larger fic, but it after I saw it was more than 1000 words, I decided to post it separately. this all started because I started re-watching Teen Wolf and then I got a comment asking to see more of Scott and Malia with their kid, and I realize this doesn't have their kid yet, but I got inspired and managed to write this in a few hours.</p><p>this takes place, like, twelve hours after the first fic finishes so I recommend reading that fic first, but I won't stop you from reading this one first. also, just for vague timeline purposes, I think they're about 26 here? I'm honestly not sure how old I want them to be and I don't have the time to sort it all out yet.</p><p>title from the song 'Black and White' by Niall Horan aka my favourite song by my favourite singer, and one that's literally about a wedding, so</p><p>unbeta'd and unedited, and written at ten o'clock at night, so there could quite easily be many typos - please feel free to point any out</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sunlight peaks in around the edges of the curtains, brightening the otherwise dim room with its early morning golden rays. A small gap allows a stray sunbeam into the middle of the room, directly onto Scott’s face, rousing him just enough for his mind to recall his current location and the events that lead him here. He smiles to himself, his heart racing with joy despite the early wake-up. His eyes drift to the woman in his arms, her head resting against his chest, same as when they fell asleep a few odd hours earlier, hair splayed out in a wild tangle on the pillow. Not just a woman - his </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother told him that the day would be a blur, that it’s so emotional and busy that he wouldn’t remember many moments clearly, but he finds that’s not the case. Some of the details are fuzzy, especially those from after they broke out the good stuff, the wolfsbane infused stuff that gets even the toughest werewolves stumbling over their own feet, but he also remembers so many aspects of the day very clearly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearest of all, however, is the moment he first saw Malia, when she stepped into view and his heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>stopped</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous, breath-taking. Beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her dress was simple, the plain white fabric falling just above her knee, but she was glowing, beaming, like the sun itself. Her hair was in its usual waves with a small white flower pinning one side back behind her ear, matching the bouquet she held close. Her only jewelry was her engagement ring and a simple sapphire necklace he would later discover was gifted to Malia by his mother - a family heirloom, passed down through the generations. It just - it felt so much like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Malia</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had worried, somewhere in the months and months of wedding planning, that she had only agreed to it all for him. She liked simple things. Uncomplicated things. And weddings tended to be the complete opposite - as proved by the long months of planning. Scott didn’t want their marriage starting off with a wedding Malia never wanted; that would never have been fair to her. They’d waited three years to start finalizing plans and he’d have hated to learn she’d only put up with it all for him. But she kept insisting that she wanted it as much as him. Maybe the big white dress and the inane traditions were a little much for her, for them both, but she wanted to marry him with all their friends, their </span>
  <em>
    <span>pack</span>
  </em>
  <span>, watching, cheering them on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d believed her. Why would he not? She had no reason to lie. But it remained a subconscious concern until the very moment she stepped down the aisle, arm in arm with her father - Henry, her real father, not Peter, her so-called sperm donor - and he saw the dress, the hair. Saw it all. And Scott released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for months. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All along, he had never been able to picture her dress. Every wedding dress he saw, in shows and movies or an online catalogue, were long and white and </span>
  <em>
    <span>poofy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, half the time. In other words, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> Malia. She never wore dresses in the first place, ever. Imagining her in some ungodly, torturous combination of lace and tulle and silk wasn’t even difficult but impossible. He could manage to superimpose her face onto the body of whoever wore the dress, but it always felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just a little too </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Unnatural.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But as soon as he saw the dress, saw her </span>
  <em>
    <span>in </span>
  </em>
  <span>the dress, he understood. He released the breath caught in his throat. His heart stopped. It was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>Malia</span>
  </em>
  <span> he nearly cried. He did tear up, actually, to Stiles’ endless teasing later. (Not that his friend could speak; Scott knew his best friend would be a puddle of tears when it was his and Lydia’s turn.) In an instant, he felt incredibly lucky, unbelievably happy, and insanely in love. It was so much more than just the dress; it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> wearing one, her vowing to love him every day for the rest of their lives, her wanting this as much as him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stiles won the big bet that day - five hundred dollars - for placing his money on Scott crying the moment he saw Malia. Lydia, however, raked in a nice amount for betting that Malia would cry as soon as she saw Scott crying. Scott should’ve been mad at his friends for betting on his wedding, but he was too distracted by his wife - </span>
  <em>
    <span>his wife!</span>
  </em>
  <span> - to care too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking now, he notices the dress hung up in the closet, perfectly clean and unwrinkled. Malia must’ve gotten up at some point in the night to hang it up, because Scott’s last memory of the dress was it falling to a heap on the floor. He grins at that memory, remembers stumbling into the hotel room, lips never more than an inch away from any given part of Malia’s skin, hands fumbling for the zipper, cheering when it finally gave and the fabric floated to the floor no more than a foot past the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve had sex before - plenty of times, actually - and it’s been mind-blowing before, but last night took it to a whole new level. Maybe it was the drinks in him, or her hormones making her hypersensitive to every touch, or the euphoria of vowing to be together till death do they part, or maybe a mix of all three, but Scott’s mind was thoroughly blown - among other things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He groans internally, thinking of all the terrible jokes Stiles will inevitably make now. Honestly, if Stiles </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>make a joke about the sex being good enough to get Malia pregnant </span>
  <em>
    <span>already </span>
  </em>
  <span>when they announce the news today, Scott will find a way to actually eat his words.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His thoughts are pulled back to reality when Malia stirs in his arms. Her face scrunches up against the sunlight before she opens her eyes, and Scott feels his heart skip a beat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” he whispers, voice cracking slightly. His vocal cords got quite the workout last night, so he’s not surprised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hums. “Mornin’.” Her eyes open a little wider as her body comes to terms with consciousness, basking in the warmth of the sun on her back - and in his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dips his head slightly, just enough to press a kiss to her nose, and finds the sun isn’t quite as bright like this. “Sleep well?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Better than I have in years, thanks to you.” Her hand snakes around to the back of his neck and pulls his lips flush against hers. Neither move to anything beyond this, both because their bodies are still waking and because morning breath isn’t something they’re willing to ignore, even if they are married now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Married. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Scott wonders if there’ll be a day when his heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>skip a beat when he thinks of them as married, or calls Malia his wife. He hopes not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What time is it, anyway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I - haven’t checked, actually.” Because checking the time meant facing reality and leaving this bed, and Scott </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn’t want to do that. But their friends and family all agreed to pull their asses out of bed for a ten-thirty brunch, so the least they can is meet them on time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reluctantly rolls away from Malia to grab his phone off the nightstand and finds they still have thirty minutes until the reservation - and about twenty unread text messages, all teasing him about “getting some” and all from either Stiles or Liam. Scott chooses to ignore them and instead rolls back towards his wife. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s enough time for a shower, if we want to be there on time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malia smirks, running her fingers up and down his bare chest. “And if we don’t mind being a little late?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s enough time for that, too.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://www.davidsbridal.com/Product_spaghetti-strap-stretch-crepe-fit-and-flare-dress-ds870158_short-wedding-dress">malia's dress, for anyone interested after all that talk</a>
</p><p>(or just copy and paste the URL if the link doesn't work: https://www.davidsbridal.com/Product_spaghetti-strap-stretch-crepe-fit-and-flare-dress-ds870158_short-wedding-dress )</p></blockquote></div></div>
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